Travels with Niles
by Theinsanefangirl
Summary: [sorry for not updating other fics.] Niles Crane is a psychiatrist from Seattle Washington, and this is his story. The entire series of Frasier retold in story format in Niles' P.O.V. The rating may go up, but it might just stay at T.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The Good Son

He was doing it again. Yoshi, our gardner, was still hammering Maris and me for that zen garden of his. While a zen garden is rather beautiful, it is a hassle to maintain, and my inner harmony would never be peaceful for long.

"Stop," I raised a hand which halted Yoshi's talking. He stared at me with a frown because he knew I was going to refuse him again. "Yoshi, I do not want a zen garden in my backyard. If I wanted to rake gravel every ten minutes to maintain my inner harmony, I'll move to Yokohama."

Yoshi continued to stare at me, without saying a word. I wondered what was going through through his head.

Finally, he frowns deeply, lets out a frustrated groan, and heads to Maris' camelia bush. To my dismay, he began ripping them out by the handful! Oh, Maris was going to get mad at me for this!

I sighed, marching into the morning room and shutting the door. "I will not open this door," I called, "until you calm down, Yoshi!"

Yoshi seemed to not hear me, or rather, he simply didn't care what I had to say because he was still pulling out flowers.

It took ten minutes for Yoshi to calm down. He sighed, wiping his hands on his shirt, and getting to his feet. I reluctantly opened the door to the morning room.

"Are you okay now?" I asked.

"Yes, Dr. Crane," Yoshi replied. "Tell Mrs. Crane I am sorry."

"I shall. Why don't you head on home and rest?" Perhaps the reason he got so angry was because he was overworked. Yoshi nodded and left the premises.

I sat down on the sofa, glancing over at the radio on the table. That's right; Frasier's radio program would be starting soon. I should listen, shouldn't I? I mean, he is my brother after all; I just can't get over this pop psychiatry thing. Maris never liked this radio. She was partial to 18th century looking antiques, and this thing was a grim reminder that she couldn't have everything that way. Every time she saw it, she would scoff. The only reason we kept it was because of Frasier, but even we don't listen to Frasier daily.

I flicked the radio on and found KACL 780. Frasier was in the middle of confronting some man for following his girlfriend, reading her mail, and eavesdropping on her calls. Wait, did he just hang up on the man? Granted, the man's actions were deplorable, but there could be an underlying cause. Frasier's approach to psychiatry didn't do much, did it?

Ah, well, I suppose this is a bit better. He was now talking to a man named Russell who was feeling depressed about his life. Frasier's talking about his own life was a rather good choice, but… he was cut off. And now the news was on. Huh.

* * *

After Frasier got off work, we agreed to meet at Cafe Nervosa, our regular haunt. Well, my regular haunt. He started using it now because it was convenient.

We stood in front of the counter, and I was telling him my story about what happened with Yoshi.

"Well, this offends him," I said, "so he starts pulling up Maris' prized camellias by the handful! Well, I couldn't stand for that, so I marched right into the morning room, and locked the door until he cooled down. Tell me you would've handled it differently, Frasier." I glanced at my brother to see that he was not even listening to me. "Frasier?"

Frasier's head snapped up. "I'm sorry, Niles. I didn't realize you'd stopped talking."

"You haven't heard a word I said," I replied, irritated.

"Oh, Niles, you're a psychiatrist. You know what it's like to listen to people prattling on endlessly about their mundane lives."

"Touche. And on that subject, I heard your show today." I smiled.

"And?"

"You know what I think about pop psychiatry," I told him, though I failed to mention that I thought his advice to Russell was actually good.

"Yes," he said, slightly annoyed with me. "I know what you think about everything. When have you ever had an unexpressed thought?"

I smiled. He certainly was pompous, wasn't he? "I'm having one, now."

"You guys ready?" the barista at the counter asked us.

"Two cafe latte supremos," Frasier said before I could answer. Not that there was anything wrong with him answering. I was going to get that drink anyway, so there was no problem.

We went over to a free table, and I immediately took the handkerchief out of my pocket to wipe down my chair. I know it must seem mad to some people, but you can never be too safe! Germs are lurking everywhere. I offered the cloth to Frasier who stared at me strangely and said, "No, thank you" before sitting down.

"So, Frasier, how are you doing on your own?" Small talk… that was the way to start before I got into the real issue about Dad.

"I love my new life," he replied. "I love the solitude. I miss Frederick like the dickens, of course. You know, he's quite a boy. He's on the peewee soccer team now. Ha, he's a chip off the old block."

"You hated sports," I pointed out.

"So does he!" Frasier laughed. "The fresh air's good for him."

I laughed as well, but I knew I couldn't keep the small talk going any longer. "Well, this has been fun, Frasier, but… we have a problem, and that's why I thought we should talk."

Frasier's face fell, and he knew what I was going to say before I said it.

"Is it Dad?"

"Afraid so. One of his buddies on the force came over to check on him, and he was found on the bathroom floor."

"Oh, my god!"

"No, he's fine," I assured him.

"Is it his hip again?" Dad had gotten shot in the hip only a few months ago, and it was making it hard for him to live his life.

"Frasier, I don't think we can live anymore."

"What can we do?"

"I know this isn't going to be anyone's favorite solution, but…" I took my briefcase out from underneath the seat and opened it up, taking out several brochures. "I took the liberty of looking into a few convalescent home for him." I placed the brochures on the table.

"Niles, a home?" Frasier asked. "He's still a young man!"

"Well, you can't take care of him. You're just getting your life together!"

"That's true." Frasier nodded.

"And I can't take him, of course."

"Of course, of course," Frasier agreed. "Why?" he shot.

"Dad doesn't get along with Maris," I answered.

"Who does?"

My mouth fell open. "I thought you liked my Maris!" I snapped.

"I… I do," Frasier said uncomfortably, and it was quite obvious he was lying to me. "I like her home a distance. You know, the way you like the sun. Maris is like the sun. Without the warmth," he added dryly.

"Well, then," I said, ignoring the jab at my wife. "We're agreed with what we have to do with Dad." I picked up one of the brochures and looked at it. "'Golden Acres: We Care So You Don't Have To.'"

"It says that?" Frasier snapped.

"Well, it might as well!"

"Alright," he said. "I can make up the spare bedroom."

"Oh, you're a good son, Frasier," I said fondly.

"God, I am, aren't I?"

The waitress came up and put our orders on the table. "Two cafe supremos," she announced. "Would you like anything to eat?"

Frasier sighed dramatically. "No. I seem to have lost my appetite."

I grinned up at the waitress, suddenly feeling a whole lot better. "I'll have a large slice of cheesecake!" That glare Frasier directed at me was well-deserved, I must say.

* * *

As I took Dad up to the door of Frasier's apartment, I could hear my older brother's piano playing through the door. It was nice to know he kept it up, as I did. The music stopped when we rang the doorbell, and we could hear his footsteps coming toward the door. They stopped, and a moment later, Frasier opened the door. I suspect he took a moment to gaze at his apartment with melancholy before allowing us in.

"Hi!" he said.

"We finally made it!" I announced, entered with Dad's suitcases. Dad followed after me, hobbling with his cane.

"Ah, Dad," Frasier said. "Welcome to your new home! Gee, you look great!"

"Don't B.S. me," Dad snapped. "I do not look great. I spent Monday on the bathroom floor. You can still see tile marks on my face." He hobbled to the sofa and sat down with a plop.

"You can imagine what the car ride over was like," I whispered to Frasier. The car ride over was hell. Every time I told Dad what a fine time he would have living with Frasier, he would have some snide remark to level at me until finally I gave up, and we drove in silence. I've been making silent prayers for my older brother.

"Well, rest assured the fridge is stocked with your favorite beer, Ballantines," Frasier told Dad. "And we've got plenty of hot links and coleslaw…"

"Mmm!" I laughed.

"And I even rented a Charles Bronson movie for later."

"Let's cut the "Welcome to Camp Crane" speech," Dad finally said. "I know what's going on here. Your old man can't be left alone for ten minutes without falling on his ass, and Frasier got stuck with me. Isn't that right?"

Frasier and I exchanged glances. "No, no, that's not it all!"

"I want you here," Frasier said. "It'll give us the chance to get reacquainted."

"Huh," Dad shrugged. "That implies we were acquainted at some point." Oh, dear, I can see that vein in Frasier's head starting to throb, and it hasn't even been ten minutes since we got here. God help him.

I chuckled nervously. "Well, listen, I'll just put Dad's things in his new bachelor's quarters, and you two scoundrels can plan some hijinks." Picking up the suitcases, I went down the hall to Dad's room to put them away. It was strange, seeing Dad so vulnerable. He was usually so strong and so independent. I knew it would happen someday. Being a police officer, I knew he was going to get hurt, and he did. A bullet in the hip, and everything was over. He was forced to retire, get a cane, and now, forced to live with Frasier because the wound would never let him relax.

Well, I might as well get back to the living room. I hope they haven't killed each other already.

There was a delivery man, and he was pushing Dad's godawful peagreen and yellow striped chair into the living room. That vein is going to pop any minute, I just know it.

"Excuse me…" Frasier tried to say.

"Where do you want it?" the delivery man interrupted.

"Where's the TV?" Dad asked.

"In that credenza," I said, pointing at it.

"Point it at that thing."

"What about this chair?" the delivery man asked.

"I'll get that out of the way." I went over, picked the chair up with ease, and put it near the window.

"Niles, be careful!" Frasier yelled. "That's a wasili! Dad… as much as I'm sure this chair means to you, I just don't think it goes with anything here." He gestured to all the pieces of furniture in his apartment.

"I know," Dad said mockingly. "It's eclectic!"

"Niles, Niles, help me," Frasier pleaded, but I was already nearing the door, eager to get out of here before hell started.

"Well, now that you two are settled in, I'm late for my dysfunctional family seminar." I was halfway out of the apartment before something crossed my mind, something that made inflate with glee. "Dad, have you mentioned Eddie yet?"

The name of Dad's overhyped and strange Jack Russell Terrier made Frasier's eyes widened in terror.

"Eddie?!" he gasped.

"Ta-ta," I said before closing the door.

* * *

It took all of my strength to focus on my dysfunctional family seminar. While I was listening to Mrs. Linders complain about her husband and kids, I found my mind drifting to Frasier and Dad. Were they dead yet? Oh, come now, Niles, you need to stop thinking so negatively. They wouldn't be dead in a literal sense, but I can only imagine how difficult things must be there, especially with Eddie in the house. That dog has a weird tendency to stare at people, and I bet it was driving Frasier mad. Something about that was highly amusing.

That night when I returned home, I had to convince Maris not to fire Yoshi, and convince her that her new dressing gown did not make her look like a hippopotamus, no matter how much she thought so. After I managed to calm her down, we spoke about Frasier and Dad, and we both agreed that we should do something to help Frasier ease his burden. It was Maris who suggested a physical therapist, someone who would come over every day to cook, clean, and help Dad with his exercises. My Maris was really practical, and I would've kissed her if she hadn't sent me across the hall to my own bedroom.

* * *

I had been busy for most of the week, so it wasn't until the near end of it that I was able to meet up with Frasier at Cafe Nervosa. When I saw him, it looked like he hadn't slept in days, and judging by what was going on in his apartment, I assumed that was the case.

"Niles!" he shouted. "There you are! I'm sorry I'm late.. Just as I was leaving, Dad tried to cook lunch by the glow of a small kitchen fire!" A strained laughed escaped his lips. "Oh, Niles, this past week with Dad… It's been a living hell. When I'm there it feels like my territory is being violated When I'm not, I'm worrying about what's up to. Look at me." Frasier lifted his hands, and I could see that they were trembling. "I'm a nervous wreck. I've got to do something to calm down. Double espresso, please," he said to the waitress. Yeah, that'll help you, Frasier. "Niles, you don't still have those brochures, do you?"

"Of course," I answered. "Maris is five years older than I am. But, do you think it's necessary?"

"I'm afraid do. I don't have my life anymore! Tuesday night, I had to give up my tickets to the theatre, Wednesday it was the symphony…"

"That reminds me," I spoke up. "Weren't you going to the opera on Friday?"

He pouted. "Yes, here." He took a pair of tickets out of his pocket and handed them to me.

"Thank you."

"Niles," he said desperately. "You don't suppose there's a chance you and Maris could…"

"Funny you should mention that. Maris and I were just discussing this, and we feel we should do more to share the responsibility."

I felt really guilty at the way Frasier's eyes lit up. "So, you'll take him?"

"Oh, dear god, no," I laughed. "But ,we would be willing to help pay for a homecare worker."

"A what?"

"You know, someone who cooks and cleans and helps Dad with his physical therapy."

"These angels exist?" he asked.

Honestly, I don't know much of an angel one of these physical therapists could be, but I suppose to Frasier, whoever he picks will be an angel. To me, he or she will be a helpful body to lift the weight from his shoulders. For that, I'll be grateful. "I know of an agency," I said. "Let me arrange for them to send a few people over."

Frasier laughed. "Niles, I can't thank you enough! I have this overwhelming urge to hug you."

"Remember what Mom always said," I spoke up before he could put his arms around me.. '"A handshake is as a good as hug."" I smiled.

"Wise woman," Frasier agreed, and we shook on it.

Just an hour later, I called the agency, and they arranged for three or four people to be sent to Frasier's apartment. I hope he picked one that would be the most helpful to him.

I was driving home from my appointment with the my masseuse when I happened to catch Frasier's radio program. His producer, Rachel or Rose, something like that, said the next caller was named Martin who had a problem with his son. I laughed; what a funny little world.

At least that's what I thought until I heard the person. It was Dad.

"I'm a first time caller," he admitted.

"Welcome to the show," Frasier said. I wonder if he knew that was Dad. "How can help you?"

"I've just moved in with my son, and it ain't working. There's a lot of tension between us."

"And why do you think that is?"

"I don't know. I guess I didn't see he had this life planned out for himself. And I just got in the way."

"These things are a two-way street," Frasier said. "Perhaps your son wasn't sensitive enough to realize that your life was changing as well."

"You got that right!" Dad yelled. "I've been telling him that ever since I got there!" Okay, if he wasn't sure it was Dad before, he will now.

"I'm sure he appreciated your candour."

"Well," Dad said gruffly. "Maybe I oughta learn to keep my trap shut."

"That's good advice for us all." I even managed a light chuckle. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, I'm worried my son doesn't know I appreciate what he's doing for me."

"Why don't you tell him?" Frasier asked softly, and I knew he was hoping that Dad would tell him that someday.

"Well, you know how it is with fathers and sons. I have trouble with that kind of stuff."

"Well, if it helps," Frasier said, and I could swear I could see his soft smile as he spoke. "I suspect your son already knows how you feel. Is that all?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Dr. Crane."

"My pleasure, Martin."

"Did you hear what I said?" Dad suddenly got very loud again. "I said thank you!"

"Yes, I heard…"

After that, Dad was disconnected, and I couldn't help the smile on my face. Maybe this new arrangement would work after all. Still, there was a chance they would kill each other.

"Dr. Crane," Rose, Rachel, whatever, said. "We have Claire on line four. She's having a problem getting over a relationship."

"Hello, Claire," Frasier said. "I'm listening."

Claire sounded distraught. "I'm a mess! Eight months ago my boyfriend and I broke up, and I can't get over it! The pain won't go away. It's like I'm in mourning or something."

"You are in mourning," Frasier told her seriously. "You're not mourning the loss of your boyfriend. You're mourning the loss of what you thought your life was going to be. Let it go, Things don't always work out the way we plan, but that's not necessarily bad. Things have a way of working out in the end. Have you ever heard of Lupe Velez?"

And Frasier went into this story, which started out fine, but soon escalated into something I hoped I never hear or experience anything like that ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Space Quest

Frasier called me the night after he hired a physical therapist for Dad. He wasn't amused with the choice, especially since the agency told her that it was a live in position. Frasier had to get rid of his study to make room for her, and I felt my heart reaching out for him. The physical therapist was English, and her name was Daphne. Lovely name, Daphne. I have yet to meet her, but whoever she was, I was sure she was a wonderful person that would take of Dad to the best of her abilities. Seeing as she was English, I pictured an older woman. Not quite Dad's age, but not quite mine or Frasier's. Somewhere in the middle. Dad hadn't had a close relationship since Mom died. Perhaps there will be a romance with this new woman.

Unlike Frasier, who dealt with a handful of people on a daily basis, giving only bits of advice, I dealt with private practice, dedicating my time to one person, or sometimes several people, for hours at a time. Today, I had Cristina Polo, whose fear of large spaces made it impossible for her to enjoy time with her family. She had been my patient for about three weeks now, and I thought we were improving quite well. She admitted to me that she didn't hyperventilate when getting out of her car to walk to my building.

I remembered the first time we met. I was sitting on my chair in my office, awaiting my next patient, who happened to be Cristina. She did not come at the time that was specified, and I was beginning to get both worried and impatient. About twenty minutes later, the door to my office burst open, and Cristina sprinted to the chair in front of my desk, breathing heavily and tears running down her cheeks. She had told me it took all of her strength to leave her car and run across the parking lot into the building. She was afraid if she didn't move fast enough, she would be kidnapped or killed. It made me feel as though I was really helping this woman when she told me a week later that she wasn't scared, and didn't have to run across the lot anymore.

"Did you take my advice, Mrs Polo?" I asked when she sat down on the chair. "Did you take your son to the park?"

She nodded. "Yes. It was overwhelming, and I felt my body tense up. I thought I was going to burst into tears or faint or something. But, I remembered your advice. I closed my eyes real tight." She closed her eyes to demonstrate. "And thought of a safe place. I was safe, and no one came to hurt me. We did have a fine time."

I smiled. "Good. I'm really glad to hear that. Your family has stopped worrying, I presume?"

Cristina laughed. "Oh, no way. They assume I'm going to revert to my old ways, that I'm going to force them to cut their plans short. They say they love my improvement, though."

"That is good. Now, I want to suggest something a bit more extreme." She tensed up, as I expected. "I know it will frighten you, but you need to trek into a mall, a beach, somewhere crowded. You need to push the thoughts aside that someone is going to separate you from the crowd and hurt you. Go to your safe place. The next time your family suggests an outing to the mall, go along with them."

She let out a nervous chuckle. "They never suggest it because they know I won't go."

"Then, you'll have to be the one to initiate it. I'm sorry, Mrs. Polo, but you need to take the next step."

Cristina looked at me, weary in her eyes. "I'll try, Dr. Crane."

"That's what I like to hear. Give it some time. Next week might be a good time to try it."

She stood from her seat and shook my hand before leaving my office. She was my last patient of the day, so I figured I would go to Cafe Nervosa. Maybe Frasier was there.

As I expected, Frasier was there. He was occupying the booth near the window, reading a book.

"Hello, there, Frasier," I said as I walked in.

He didn't glance up from his book, but his eyes glittering with malice. Did I do something? "Oh, what fresh hell is this?"

"Isn't that a nice way to greet your brother. Cafe Latte," I said to a passing waiter.

"I'm sorry, Niles. It's just I've been trying to read this book, and every time I do, I get interrupted."

I took a closer look at the title, and I realized I had read it. "Ah. "The Holotropic Mind" by Stanislav Grolf. I especially love his conclusion that a change in breathing patterns can include alternate states of consciousness."

Frasier slammed the book shut. "Great. Now you've ruined the ending!"

"I'm sorry," I said. "That was inconsiderate. Ah, Mille Grazie," I said to the waiter when he delivered my order. "So, Frasier, how's the father?"

"Father?" he asked with a hint… well, more than a hint of bitterness in his voice. "You mean the man who's driving me crazy? The man who makes me dread the very sight of my doorstep? The man that drove me out of my home?"

"Uh-uh." I stirred my coffee. "And how's work?" I wasn't ready to hear what problems Frasier was having with Dad now.

"I don't know what to do," he said. "I had another fight with Dad. I'm afraid if we stay under the same roof, there will be irreparable damage on the relationship we have as it is."

"Well, what are the alternatives?"

"I'd do what I should've done in the first place: Move Dad and Daphne into their own apartment."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Frasier," I snapped. "It hasn't been that long. Give him a chance. You might remember why you moved him in the first place."

"Refresh me," Frasier said dryly.

"You wanted to get closer to Dad," I pointed out.

"I still do. But, he makes it impossible. I can't read my book, I can't have my coffee." He sighed heavily. "I don't have any peace in my own home."

"So… what you're saying is you want to be closer to him, but you don't want him around?" His ears reddened at that. "Ask yourself, Frasier: Have you sat him down and talked to him? I mean… really talked to him?"

"Maybe I haven't done my best," he admitted. "Thanks for the chat, Niles. You're a good brother, and a credit to the psychiatric profession." He patted my shoulder.

"You're a good brother too," I said, drinking my coffee. He glared at me, but said nothing as he left the cafe.

I wondered if Frasier had listened to my advice and sat Dad down for a talk. I wondered if the talk was going well if they were having one. Somehow, I doubted it. Dad was never really talkative, and mine and Frasier's relationship with him had always been strained because of that. I did hope this new arrangement would allow both of us to get closer to him.

The more I thought about Frasier and Dad, I thought about Daphne. Granted, I hadn't met the woman, but I would have to sooner or later. Sometime in the next days would work. It was only fitting that I greet the woman who helping Dad, the woman who Maris and I are helping Frasier pay.

When I returned home later that evening, I was informed about a missed call from secretary that Cristina Polo had called the office earlier when I was out. Fearing something had happened, I took no time at all in driving to my office to give Cristina a call.

"Hello?" she asked. She didn't sound distraught. In fact, she sounded cheerful.

"Mrs. Polo, this is Dr. Crane."

"Oh, Dr. Crane!" she squealed. "Sorry; I'm just really excited to tell you something."

"Yes….?"

"I took your advice. I went to the mall."

"Already?" I asked. "We barely spoke hours ago, and you've already done it?"

"Well… I got to thinking how nervous I would be, so when I got home, I gathered all my courage and told my family we should go to the mall. They were surprised, but they didn't ask too many questions. Anyway, when we got there, I was nervous beyond belief. I thought I was going to faint or wet myself or run out screaming. Then, I closed my eyes, like I did at the park, and told myself that no one was going to hurt me. They were just going about their business, and I was of no use to them. And it worked. We walked through the mall for hours, laughing and shopping, and I completely forgot I ever had a problem. Until my husband told me how surprised he was. Not that I blame him or anything, Dr. Crane. He made me realize that the problem had been taking over my life, and that your advice has really helped me." She said this all rather fast, but my heart warmed just the same. I never expected her to take my advice so quickly.

"Well… thank you, Mrs. Polo. I'm glad it worked for you. I do hope we see each other in the future."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Well, if you've overcome your problem, surely, you don't need me anymore?"

She laughed. "Silly, Dr. Crane! The problem's always going to be there, and I need you to help me. Same time next week?"

I smiled. "Yeah. Goodbye, Mrs. Polo." I hung up the phone and sighed. It was times like these I really loved being a psychiatrist. I picked the phone up again to call Frasier and ask him how he was doing.

"Hello?" Dad asked.

"Dad, is Frasier there?"

"Hey, Niles. Uh, no, he's in storage."

"Storage…?" I could hear the television playing in the background.

"Yeah. To read or something. I don't know. Hey, can we talk later, I'm missing my program."

"Yeah, Dad. Bye."

Well, at least Frasier was able to find a nice, quiet place to get some reading down. I just hoped he didn't become too dependent on the storage space whenever things got too frustrating.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Dinner at Eight

Today started off strangely, as I was listening to Frasier's radio program. Really, it just happened. I was driving and fiddling with the radio dials when I fell upon KACL, the radio station Frasier works. Some woman named Pam was having trouble with her in-laws. Boy, don't I know that feeling?

"...they drop by all the time without calling first," Pam was saying. "And they expect us drop what we're doing to entertain them."

"They're your husband's parents," Frasier said. "What does he suggest?"

"The other day he had us drop to the floor until they drove away." Now, there was an interesting image.

"A creative approach, but not a long time solution."

"I thought of saying something, but I don't want to hurt their feelings."

"You have a choice. You can either risk hurting their feelings or spend the rest of your life diving for cover." There was a sound of doorbell.

"Shh!" Pam whispered. "They're here."

"Who… your in-laws?"

"Yes!"

Frasier's voice lowered to a whisper. "Why don't you take this opportunity to…. Oh, for pete's sake," he yelled at a louder tone. "Why don't you just tell them how you feel?"

"I will, next time, I promise!" Pam whispered fiercely. "Thanks, Dr. Crane."

"Yes. Well, while Pam belly-crawls across her living room, let's take a message from Carpet Fresh."

The Carpet Fresh commercial started playing, and I immediately shut it off. I tried that product, and it did nothing for my carpets. Except leave a giant blue stain that could only be removed by a professional. They were so lucky I didn't sue them for the bills! Or for the distress Maris had upon seeing it. Poor girl wouldn't leave her room for a week.

"Dr. Crane, Dr. Crane," Mary, our housekeeper, said just as soon as I walked into the house.

"What is it, Mary? Is it Mrs. Crane?" Dear god, I hoped Maris wasn't having another episode where she threw glass figurines at everybody. Last week wasn't a good week for me.

Mary shook her head. "I listen to your brother's program." Oh. "Can you get me an autographed photo?"

When she looked at me with those big eyes, how could I resist? Mary had done so much for Maris and me, so it only seemed right that I do this for her. "Yes. Next time I'm there, which should be today actually. I'm stopping by to meet our father's physical therapist." She grinned when I told her that and thanked me about a million times before Maris rang her little bell, and Mary had to run off to see what she wanted.

I dropped off my files in my study and got back in my car to Frasier's apartment.

I was about to ring the doorbell to Frasier's apartment when I recalled Pam's problem with her in-laws always dropping by unannounced. I assumed it was only fair that I call. So, I fished my cellphone from inside my jacket.

"Hello?" Frasier asked.

"Hello, Frasier. I was wondering if it will be alright if I stopped by."

"Well, of course you can come by!"

"Wonderful. I'm right outside your apartment."

"Great. See you then!"

As soon as the phone was hung up, I rang the doorbell.

"Niles, good to see you! Thanks for calling first," Frasier said as he let me in.

"After hearing your show today, I wouldn't dream of dropping by unannounced," I told him. "Actually, I was in the neighborhood, and I've come to beg a favor. My housekeeper Mary is a quite a fan of your little radio program."

"Is she?" Frasier asked pleasantly.

"Yes. Well, what she lacks in taste, she makes up for in vigor," I replied. "She'd like an autographed photo."

Frasier gave me an unamused look. "It'd be my pleasure. Oh, Daphne." Oh, I get to meet Daphne, finally. "This is my brother, Niles."

I nodded toward her, but then stopped when I actually saw her. She was nothing like I imagined. She had to be younger than I was! Her chestnut brown hair fell across her shoulders, and her eyes were as brown as truffles. And that smile… Did my heart rate just increase?

"You're Daphne?" I asked, unable to believe it.

"Why, yes I am," she replied with a grin.

I made my way towards her, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but I couldn't help myself. There was a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when our hands touched.

"When Frasier told me he'd hired an Englishwoman, I expected someone a bit more…" I trailed off. "Not quite so…" My eyes traveled her body. "You're Daphne?"

"It's nice to meet you." She took her hand away and went back to sorting laundry.

"That's a lovely accent. Is that Manchester?"

"Yes, how'd you know?"

"Oh, I'm quite the anglophile. I'm Frasier and Dad already told you."

"No, they didn't mention it," she said.

"You undoubtedly guessed as much when they told you I studied at Cambridge." I had picked something up, and was stroking it between my hands.

"No, they didn't mention that either."

Well! "I guess my father and brother don't talk much about me when I'm not around."

"I wouldn't say that."

The softness of whatever I was holding was overwhelming, and I pressed it to my cheek. I never felt anything so soft. Daphne must've put great care in her laundry. She certainly was as lovely as her name.

"Niles," Frasier said, but I could barely process what he was saying. "Here's your picture. Do you mind?!" he shouted, snatching the fabric away from me in a huff.

I took the photo from his hands and walked to my briefcase, but not before glancing at Daphne one more time. What was I doing? I was a married man, and here I was, staring at this girl. Still, she was beautiful, and her lips were full and...

I shook my head and looked down at the photo. "'Mary, here's wishing you good mental health. Frasier Crane.'"

"Fits like a glove! Hi, Niles." Dad said.

"Hi, Dad… Wow." He came into the living room wearing the most godawful suit I ever had the misfortune to set eyes on. It was brown, or a brownish red, or something. There was no color in existence that could describe it.

"How do I look?"

"Wow," was all I could say.

"Your brother took your father shopping at Armani today," Daphne said.

"You got that at Armani?" I asked Frasier, my eyes wide.

"See, Frasier? I told you. Even he can't tell the difference," Dad said with a grin.

Thankfully, Frasier stepped up to explain. "We were on our way to Armani, when Dad spotted this in the window of a discount clothing store." The explanation was not at all satisfactory.

"It's sharkskin," Dad announced as though that were something of which to be proud. You don't just wear a fish's skin! "Look at how it changes color when I move my arm." And he demonstrated, and I felt sick at seeing the glitter on his suit.

"You're going to be the handsomest gent at your friend's retirement party," Daphne told Dad, carrying a basket full of laundry. I was hoping she was just humoring him. Either way, even if she did like the suit, it wouldn't stop me from being attracted... Stop it! "Now, let's go hang it up before it gets all wrinkled."

"It's supposed to resist wrinkles," Dad told her. "The manager had another one stuffed inside a mayonnaise jar!"

As soon as Dad and Daphne were out of the room, I took no time in crossing the room to Frasier's side.

"Frasier, is he our real father?"

"Niles, we've been having this discussion since we were children."

"But, that suit!"

"It's not just the suit. It's his taste in everything. Clothing, music, films." We went into the kitchen where I promptly made myself a drink.

"Besides our name and abnormally well-developed calf muscles, we have nothing in common with the man," I told Frasier.

"Well, thank goodness we took after Mom."

"Why didn't Dad acquire any of her sophistication, then?" One would think being around her all those years would have him attuned to opera or something along those lines.

Frasier's lips became thin lines, and I wondered what he was thinking. "Perhaps he was working so hard to give us the finer things in life." Suddenly I felt bad for wishing Dad was different; it really was thanks to him that we were able to enjoy the finer things, as Frasier put it. Would we have gone through opera camp without Dad's hard work; most likely not. "Maybe it's time we paid him back. Expose him to some of the finer things, so he'd stop lumbering through life like some kind of polyester dinosaur."

"I don't know. He's so set in his ways."

"Well, we are all at some points in our life. Do you remember when you were convinced that the 1812 Overture was a great piece of classical music?"

Oh, yes. "Oh, was I ever that young?" I asked wistfully.

"Well, we need to help Dad broaden his horizons." The more Frasier spoke, the more sense he made. If we could take Dad out, perhaps he would enjoy our tastes. "Show him the world he's only read about in TV guide."

"An evening of fine dining," I suggested.

"Perfect! But, where?"

We thought about it, and a lightbulb went off in both of our heads because we exclaimed at once, "Le Cigare Volant!"

We were ecstatic with the idea of a night of dining at such an exclusive restaurant when a thought crossed my mind. "Can we really get in? I've been trying for months."

"Oh, please," Frasier scoffed. "Niles, you're forgetting the cache my name carries in this town." Oh, please!

"Actually, I'm not," I replied cheekily. "If the maitre'd happens to be a housewife, we're in."

"Niles, you are so mean," he mumbled as we walked out of the kitchen. "I'll just call information."

I fished my cellphone out of my pocket and handed it to my brother. "No need. I have it on speed dial." Because I call everyday to try and get in. Maris had been annoyed with me about that.

"Thank you. Hello, this is Dr. Frasier Crane. Yes, the one on the radio." With that smug look he just gave me, I could hear his ego starting to inflate. "Any chance of getting a table for four on Saturday at eight? Merci!" He shut the phone and grinned. "We're in!" We promptly high-fived, which was not as pleasant as I thought it would be. I was rubbing my sore hand when Dad came into the living, sans sharkskin suit, thank God.

"Dad, Niles and I and Maris would like you to join us on Saturday night for dinner at Le Cigare Volant. It's the hottest new restaurant in town."

Dad cocked his head and grimaced. "Ah, gee, I don't know…"

"The food is to die for!" I said quickly. Of course, I didn't know how good their food tasted because, thanks to Maris' constant nagging, I was reminded that we had never been there.

"Niles, your country and your family are to die for," Dad told me. "Food is to eat." He sat on his armchair and stretched his legs out. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn't like it."

"But, Dad," Frasier said. "How do you know you won't like it if you won't try it?" Good one!

"Well, I didn't have to get shot in the hip to know I wouldn't like that!" Touche, Dad. Then again, food and being shot at were two different things.

"Dad, Niles and I really want to do this for you. It'll give us a chance to have evening together as an evening."

Dad thought about it. "Oh, alright."

We did another high-five, which was stupid, because my hand was even sorer than before.

"We're going to have the best time!" Frasier gushed.

"Hey!" Dad called. "I can wear my new suit."

Frasier's grin turned painful as he looked at me. "Won't that be nice?" Oh, yes, extremely.

Maris wasn't as excited as I hoped she would be when I told her. In fact, she was angry that Frasier's name was big enough to get into Le Cigare Volant, but ours wasn't. Of course, she blamed me for not trying hard enough in the first place. She told me Frasier cared more about his social standing than I did about our own, which she should know was not true at all. I bought a horrible vase once just because everyone in our social circle was getting it, and if I didn't, I would be an outcast. Luckily, the vase went out of fashion, giving me another chance to uphold my status and also smash the damn thing; that was fun.

I, on the other hand, was excited beyond belief about going, and I wasn't going to let Maris' attitude bring me down. Not only was I going to one of the most popular restaurants in the city, but I had the chance to convert Dad into, well, Frasier and me. The only thing that would make it perfect was if Daphne could join us.

When the night finally came, everything was going as planned except for one thing. And that was Maris. She was dressing, but suddenly, she fell against her bed and sighed. Obviously that meant she needed the night alone, and I left before she could tell me I couldn't go.

Without Maris, it would be a table for four with three people. What an awkward number. Who could possibly replace Maris? Certainly not that gorgeous English goddess, Daphne… Daphne wouldn't want to join us, I told myself as I went into a grocery store and bought devonshire clotted cream. Oh, but I'm sure she has plans, but I'm also sure she would love to join us for an evening of fine dining. I'd certainly like to get to know her better.

Frasier opened the door when I arrived, and I couldn't help but feel excited. Not only for tonight, but for the possibility of Daphne joining us.

"Hi, Niles."

"Hello!"

"Where's Maris? Are you two taking separate elevators again?" That happened once, and that was only because she thought I was making fun of her weight when I pointed out the capacity size of the elevator.

"Oh, no, I'm afraid Maris is having one of her episodes." Frasier nodded; it was a common thing. "You see, in the middle of dressing for the evening, Maris slumped down on the edge of the bed in her half-slip and sighed. I knew then and there that dinner was not to be."

"I'm sorry, Niles," he said, patting my shoulder.

"Yes, well, I'll just have to make the best of it… Hi ho, Daphne!" I cheered, striding over to her as she came into the room. "You're looking luminous this evening!"

"Why, thank you, Dr. Crane," she smiled. Oh, that smile!

"Niles, what's in the bag?" Frasier asked.

"Just a little treat I picked up for Dad," I answered. I glanced at Daphne as I spoke. "Just some Devonshire Clotted Cream."

"I love Devonshire Clotted Cream!" she announced.

"Isn't that lucky? You two can share it." I gave the bag to her and smiled.

"I'll just pop this into the fridge." As she ran off into the kitchen, I found my gaze lingering.

"Sherry?" Frasier broke me out of my thoughts.

"Thank you." I was still gazing toward the kitchen when I said, "Here's a thought, Frasier. Since Maris has sadly dropped out, and we do have an extra space, perhaps we should ask Daphne to join us. I mean, it is a table for four, and… and three is such an awkward number at a… dinner." I took the sherry from his hands, and he was glaring at me suspiciously.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing… Oh, for goodness sake, Frasier, I'm a married man!" A married man who was having impure thoughts about my father's physical therapist. "Maris means the world to me! Why, just the other day I kissed her for one reason whatsoever!" She didn't exactly kiss back, but that was not the point!

"Well, I'm off to me poker game," Daphne said, heading to the door. So much for dinner. "It was nice seeing you again, Dr. Crane." She touched my hand, and I swear my entire body went numb. "I'm getting something on you?"

Oh, dear, can she feel the vibes of attraction? My face was burning, and if she said anything, I'd just deny it, that's all. Attraction? Oh, well, you're very pretty, Daphne, but I'm not attracted to you. If she asked me, I would just faint.

"She's psychic," Frasier explained. "We've decided to find it charming."

Psychic… Then she can definitely feel it.

"You have occasional bouts of colitis, don't you?" Daphne asked.

It was completely out of nowhere, but I was so relieved that she didn't ask me about my feelings. "Yes!" I said at once.

She took her hand away and went to the door, obviously pleased with herself.

"Frasier, she's phenomenal!"

Daphne glanced over her shoulder with a grin. "It's a gift. Well, cheerio!"

"Ta-ta!" I sighed.

"Niles," Frasier said loudly. "You've never had colitis a day in your life!"

"I know, but I couldn't bear to disappoint her."

"Ready to go!" Dad announced, hobbling into the living room. He was wearing plaid. Like he wore every day.

"Dad, what happened to your suit?" Frasier asked.

"Oh, it's at the cleaners. I got some creamed chicken on it at Phil's retirement dinner. You can't keep anything nice." I'm sure creamed chicken wouldn't have made that suit any worse.

"Dad," I said. "I… I… I'm sure Le Cigare Volant has a dress code." When Frasier asked for my phone, I handed it to him.

"Where's Maris?" Dad asked.

"Episode."

"Ah."

"Yes, hello," Frasier said. "This is Dr. Frasier Crane. I have a reservation tonight, and I'm calling about your minimal dress code." There was a crease in Frasier's forehead, and I took a step forward in worry. "Crane. Frasier. Doctor! We've had our reservation for over a week!" He threw me a sharp glance. "They've lost our reservation!"

Angrily, I took the phone from him. "Listen, this is Dr. Niles Crane, and I've never been treated so shabbily in my life. I have half a mind to come down there and make an embarrassing scene!"

"Niles, they've already hung up."

"Oh, thank god. Well, Frasier, what do we do? It's Saturday night, quarter to eight; we're not going to get in anywhere."

"Hey, I know!" Dad said excitedly. "We can go to the Timber Mill!"

"The Timber Mill?" Frasier asked with the same amount of uncertainty that I would've used.

"Yeah, it's great," Dad went on. "You can get a steak this thick for 8.95!" Using his fingers, he showed us just how thick the steaks were, and I felt my stomach churn.

"Honestly, Dad," I chimed, "It doesn't seem like the kind of place we'd be interested in." And that was the wrong thing to say because Dad looked offended.

"I was willing to go your to place."

"Dad, maybe we oughta take a rain check," Frasier said, and Dad's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Gee, alright. It's a shame. I really wanted to spend time with my sons. Oh, well. I'm sure Daphne has something in the fridge I can heat up." He looked so downcast as he hobbled to the kitchen very slowly. We knew he was doing this on purpose; his hip wasn't as bad as all that. Still… I couldn't help but feel guilty, and judging by the look on Frasier's face, he was feeling the same way.

"You know, I am in the mood for a good steak!" Frasier called out.

"What?" I asked. We were guilty, yes, but I didn't think he'd actually give in to him! When had guilt ever worked, even when we were kids? I seemed to recall a moment when Dad wouldn't let us convert the garage into an opera stage. We tried so many guilt trips on him, but none worked. In the end, we had to use cardboard boxes which broke as soon we stepped on them.

"Well, yes," Frasier explained. "Tonight isn't about where we have dinner; it's about the three of us spending time together."

"You won't be sorry!" Dad promised. "They've got five different toppings for your baked potato." Oh, joy.

"Did you hear that, Niles?" Frasier asked.

"I'm sold already!"

"We'll bring you a bone, Eddie!" Dad called out as we opened the door. Eddie didn't respond. "He's ecstatic."

The Timber Mill was a rather large place that looked like a barn/cabin sort of thing. There were a lot of cars parked outside, and I was betting these people were just like Dad.

Inside, it was packed. The workers were dressed in what seemed to be country attire, and so did most of the customers. Dad looked right at home, while Frasier and I were obviously uncomfortable in our impeccable suits. I couldn't believe Dad dragged us here. More so, I couldn't believe Frasier actually agreed to this!

"Quite a place, huh?" Dad asked. "It used to be a working saw-mill!"

"Yes, Dad," Frasier said sarcastically. "Until somebody stated the obvious and said, "Hey, let's turn this place into a restaurant!"

Dad didn't seem to notice Frasier's jab because he said, "I just walk in here and my mouth starts watering! There's nothing like the smell of charboiled meat."

I sniffed the air, and I was reminded of something. "It triggers a memory… It's… Oh, yes, Maris in her tanning bed."

"Hi!" The hostess smiled. "Welcome to the Timber Mill!"

"You don't have a table for three, do you?" Frasier asked, hoping that they wouldn't, just as I was.

"Sure. Right this way." Damn!

She took us to a free table. "Is this your first visit to the Timber Mill?"

"Yes," Frasier nodded.

"Well, we have a dress code."

"Couldn't you make an exception?" he asked, gesturing to Dad. "His suit is at the cleaners and…"

"Not him," she corrected. "You." Him? Me? US?! Out of nowhere, the hostess brandished a pair of scissors and snipped Frasier's tie right below the knot. Oh, dear lord! And then, a waitress did the same thing to me! My new tie was ruined!

"TIMBER!" The hostess yelled. For some reason, everyone was clapping. Why on earth would you clap about something like this, and why would you stick the ties on the wall like some tacky art display?

"My tie!" Frasier cried. "She cut off my tie!"

"Gotcha!" Dad laughed. "Ain't it great?"

"Why did she cut off my tie?"

"It's tradition. To keep it casual."

I tried to keep my voice as casual as the waitresses attempts to keep this place casual. "Dad, you could've mentioned that."

"And ruin the fun? Cheer up, you get a free dessert." Yes, that will make up for ruining a 500 dollar tie.

"Oh, boy… Well, I guess you're right, Dad. It's just a tie," Frasier said as we sat down.

"A Hugo Boss tie," I pointed out.

A new waitress came to our table. She was very lively, and kept a smile on her face. It would've been a pleasant sight if my tie wasn't destroyed.

"Hi. Can I get you anything from the bar?"

"I'll have a Stoli Gibson," I answered. "On the rocks. With three pearl onions."

"If you bring him two, if you bring him four, he'll send it back," Frasier emphasized.

"And for you?"

"Same."

"I'll have a Ballantine," Dad said. Keeping it casual, eh, Dad?

As the waitress left, Dad started taking the bread and butter she had left on the table.

"The funniest thing happened to one of my patients," I said, trying to make this evening as enjoyable as possible. "He had an amusing Freudian slip. During dinner, he meant to ask his wife to pass the salt and instead he said, "You ruined my life, you blood sucking shrew."' Frasier and I burst into laughter.

"Bet, she didn't like that," Dad pointed out, and the laughter died.

"No, Dad, no she did not. Say, how was the retirement party?"

"Great. I really miss those guys. Bad news, though. Remember Mo Hanson? Killed in a boating accident."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, at least he went quick. Hank Grinsky- well, he had three bypasses before he went."

As Dad continued to eat bread, I wondered how he could do that. How could he eat while speaking of such gruesome topics? I'm sorry I brought it up.

"Jimmy Bourbon," he went on. "He had this weird disease. I went to the hospital to visit him. By the time he died, his skin was all yellow and he wasted away. Nice nurse, though. Betty, I think her name was."

Frasier and I were becoming uncomfortable with the topic, and again, I was really sorry I brought it up.

When the waitress came back with our drinks, I was relieved. Three pearl onions like I asked, and dear god, it was just what I needed in a place like this.

"I see we have some first timers." What tipped you off? The lack of tie? "Let me tell you how it works. Every entree comes with soup or a trip to the salad bar. One trip, only, please!" Don't worry. "Also included is our famous garlic cheese bread. Now," she said as man rolled out a trolley that had thick piece of meat on top of it. "You can claim your steak!"

"Claim our steaks?" I asked nervously.

"Yeah, you can pick your cut from the meat trolley," Dad told me.

Yes, that certainly seemed sanitary.

"How much extra would I have to pay to get one from the refrigerator?" Frasier asked.

Dad rolled his eyes. "Just pick one, will you?"

I decided to be the one to go first. "I'd like a filet mignon, very lean. Not so lean it lacks flavor, but not so fat it leaves drippings on the plate. And I don't want it cooked. Just lightly seared on either side, pink in the middle. Not true pink, not a mauve, somewhere in between. Bearing in the mind, the slightest error either way, and it's ruined."

The waitress smiled at me, and she had no idea what I was talking about. "Okay! And you?" she asked Frasier, who was still struggling with the concept of the meat trolley.

"Can I see the other side of that one?" he asked nervously, pointing.

"We'll get those three, medium rare, all the fixings," Dad ordered for us. As the meat trolley was rolled away, he said, "There's a lull at the salad bar!" And he got up and hurried over there, and Frasier and I just wanted to die.

"Well, we might as well get some salad," Frasier told me. "Who knows what's in their soup?"

"Day old broth," I answered with a light chuckle. "Frasier, this is insane. First our ties, now this?"

"I know, but we have to pull through for Dad's sake. Come on." He went to the salad bar, and I followed.

At least the salad looked clean. One trip only, she said. And why would I want to take more than one trip? That would mean we would be here longer than we had to. Frasier and I opted for a bit of salad with their "famous" thousand island dressing.

"Isn't this great?" Dad asked when we returned with our salads. "You know, they have the best Thousand Island dressing in town!"

"Yes, Dad," Frasier sighed. "I saw the plague by the cash register."

A waiter came and took our salads away, and we were only about half way done. Suddenly, our main courses were on the table in its place.

"Three boiled onions, medium rare!" the waitress cheered.

"We've barely finished our salads!" Frasier complained.

"Great service, huh?" Dad grinned.

"Yes," I answered. "With any luck, we'll be completing our dining experience in less than twenty minutes." Please.

"If you're not ready, I can put this under a heat lamp," she offered.

Frasier held up a hand. "That won't be necessary, young lady. I'm as a ready as I'll ever be."

"Alright," she nodded. "Let me know if you need anything else." She left to check on other customers, who were having a better time than we were.

"Yes, thank you," Frasier shot.

"I don't mind you being a little hard on this place," Dad said, "but you could be nicer to that waitress."

"You're right. I'll apologize when the dessert comes. Which should be any minute!"

Dad dove right into his meal while Frasier chewed slowly and unhappily. I, however, was inspecting my baked potato which had some tiny things in it. I picked at it with my fork.

"Sometimes there's nothing like a good steak," Dad said happily.

"I wish this was one of those times," Frasier retorted.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't mean to complain…"

"Then, don't! For your information, these steaks comes from prized beef raised at… Niles, what the hell are you doing?"

I looked up at Dad, still dissecting my potato. "Something seems to have fallen in my baked potato."

"Those are bacon bits," he said.

"But, I didn't order them."

"I ordered all the fixings. You got all the fixings."

"I don't eat bacon because of the nitrates," I said. I could tell Dad was getting fed up with me, but I couldn't help it!  
"No problem," he said instead of snapping at me. "They're artificial. They're made out of soy."

"See, Niles?" Frasier asked sardonically. "They really look out for your health here!" He rolled his eyes and chuckled, as did I. It really was funny, considering the cholesterol inducing items they gave us.

"Everyone else is enjoying their meals," Dad groaned. "Why can't you guys do the same?" It was true. We were the only ones complaining; everyone else was talking merrily, eating their food as if it was the greatest thing they ever tasted.

We fell silent, slowly chewing our steaks. They were chewy, and hard to bite through.

"Niles…?" Frasier asked suddenly.

"Mmm?" I swallowed-with difficulty, I might add.

"Is Maris hosting the Arts Council benefit again this year?" He was stifling a laugh, and I knew where he was going with this.

"Yes, she is," I laughed.

"Where are they holding it?"

"Well, they haven't picked a spot yet. Perhaps I should tell them about this place!" We laughed.

"I'd like to be a fly on the wall that night!" Frasier laughed.

"You wouldn't be the only one!"

We were laughing hysterically, and it was only Dad's voice which brought us out of it.

"That's it," he said angrily, slamming his napkin on the table. "I've had enough of you two jackasses. I've spent the whole night listening to you making cracks about the food and the help. Well, I've got news for you. People like this place, I like this place. And when you insult this restaurant, you insult me." He stood up from the table. "I used to think you took after your mother, liking the opera and ballet. But your mother liked a good ball game too. She even had a hot dog once in a while." As he spoke, I bowed my head, feeling my heart grow heavy with guilt. I was sure Frasier felt the same way. "She may have had fancy tastes, but she had too much class to make me or anyone else feel second rate." He slammed money on the table. "If she saw the way you two behaved tonight, she'd be ashamed." He turned away to leave, and Frasier stood up to follow him.

"Dad, wait!"

"No. I'm going to Duke's for a nightcap."

"At least let us drive you there."

"No. I'll take a cab. I've had enough of you two for one night. Give the waitress a nice tip. She deserves it." He went back to the door, and when Frasier told me to say something, I jumped up, but I couldn't think of anything.

"Dad, wait! The mud pie's coming!"

He was already gone, and Frasier and I went to our table. Did I really just say that?

"The mud pie's coming…" Frasier mocked. "I feel terrible."

"So do I…"

"You know the sad thing is… he's right about us."

"Have we really become such snobs?"

"You don't see anyone else driving their father out on the street to drink, do you?"

The waitress returned to take Dad's plate. Her usual smile was replaced with a cold stare that made me shiver.

"Niles, we've gotta apologize to Dad. We'll give him a couple of hours to cool down first, then when he gets home, we'll settle this."

"Absolutely," I agreed. "We've been just horrid. Frasier, do you really think we've lost the ability to appreciate the simpler things? Steaks, potatoes, fixings?"

"I'm afraid so. I mean, look at this! This is good food!" He said, gesturing to our plates. "It's not too fancy, but… it's good, wholesome, American food!" A bit of an overstatement, but okay!

"You know, as a tribute to Dad, I think we should sit here until we've cleaned our plates!"

"I'm game if you are! We are going to prove we are not snobs."

"Right." I stared at my baked potato with the bacon bits, but I couldn't bring myself to eat it. "Frasier, look who's here." Frasier turned around, and I put my potato in my napkin. Unfortunately, he turned back around and saw what I was doing. He raised his eyebrows, and I put the potato back on the table.

"Eat your meal!" he snapped.

I nodded, and slowly, but surely, I ate my potato. It wasn't the worst thing, but it was far from the best. We were both tempted to just throw our food away, but we remembered our promise, and pushed through.

An hour passed, everyone had gone home save for the hostess and waitress, chairs were stacked up, and we were still eating. I could feel my heart screaming in protest, but we kept going.

After another half hour, we licked the last of the mud pie from our forks, and we were done.

Frasier left a huge tip on the table for the waitress, and we got a doggy bag.

"I'm terribly sorry," he told her, and her cold stare softened, and the smile came back. I never thought I'd liked to see that smile again.

"I understand it's not as fancy as you're used to," she said, "but it means a lot that you pushed through. Maybe we'll see you again."

Frasier nodded, and I could see the fear in his eyes. "Yes, maybe. Well, good night. Come on, Niles."

"Right!" We left the Timber Mill, and we made a pact never to step foot in there again. Hopefully.

"Dad?" Frasier asked, opening the door slowly. It was late, but Dad was still up, sitting on his chair.

"I don't want to talk to you," he said.

Frasier and I came in, carrying a doggy bag, which had the bone Dad promised to bring Eddie.

"We're sorry," I said. "We realized that… we are just so used to the finer things, and the simpler things aren't necessarily bad. Just different…"

"Just like the finer things are like that for me!" Dad yelled. "What's that bag?" he asked.

"We finished the meal, Dad," Frasier said. "It was hard, but we did it. And this… is for Eddie. I'll put it in the fridge for tomorrow." He went into the kitchen for a moment before coming back.

"Oh, you're finally home?" Daphne asked, coming into the living room wearing a beautiful nightgown.

"Silk, Daphne?" I asked, unable to help the grin.

"Yes. Isn't it lovely?"

"Very."

"Niles," Frasier snapped. "I believe we were talking to Dad."

"Right. Dad, once again, we're sorry. We didn't mean to make you feel this way, and we really want you to forgive us."

Dad pursed his lips. "Fine. I forgive you. Just don't ever do that again. I might have to kill you." He smiled. "I guess you do take after your mother more than I thought. She would always apologize if she made me feel bad. Thanks for the night out, boys. Hopefully next time will be better."

"Hopefully next time, Daphne can join us," I chimed.

"I'd love to!" She grinned.

Frasier chuckled softly. "It's late; I think I should be getting to bed. "

"You're right," I said. "Goodnight, Dad, Frasier, Daphne. I had a lovely time." I nodded at them and left the apartment, eager to head home to my soft bed, even if I was going to be sleeping in it alone. Hopefully the next time we went out, it wouldn't be as disastrous.


End file.
